


Down the Sewer Hole

by Gunpowder_and_Tea



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Gen, Humor, I FEEL A STRONG NEED TO EXPLAIN THIS 8 YEARS LATER, I'm old, Rhyme and Beat are British and moved when they were young, Rhyme is entirely based off my headcanon from my tumblr back in the day, also I'm so sorry for anything OOC, joshyme, platonic though????, that is why Beat has trouble speaking Japanese, there was an attempt, this is old, while Rhyme was young enough to learn the nuances of a second language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22042918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gunpowder_and_Tea/pseuds/Gunpowder_and_Tea
Summary: One uneventful day, Rhyme's beloved bell pendant takes a tumble down the local sewage system. Worried brothers, bad coffee, math frauds, and tale-telling shoes aside, she wants it back. Rhyme-centric.
Relationships: Bito "Rhyme" Raimu & Kiryu "Joshua" Yoshiya
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Down the Sewer Hole

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for amanadeline for the 2011 Secret Santa event on the subarashiki_ds community on Livejournal! 
> 
> (Yes, it did take me 8 years to move myself over to AO3. I'm old okay.)
> 
> I would have made Rhyme all cute and innocent like how she was portrayed in the game in-Game... but I like her too much :P So I apologize if Ms. Victorious-Secret-Attitude Rhyme isn’t up to the usual five-star restaurant standard. But after all, this isn’t Memoryless!Rhyme we’re dealing with here, it’s Dreamless!Rhyme, which I believe is more Black.
> 
> This is my arrangement for the prompt “bells” and this story was supposed to be Joshyme, but I would describe it more as friendship, so I hope that’s okay.
> 
> This story ended up being twice the length it was originally planned out to be. I need sleep.

“Oh blimey!”

No. Nonononono. This could _not_ just have happened.

Azure eyes stared unseeingly from Rhyme’s visage, too stunned to look forty-five degrees downward to reassure her of the worst – as if the horrible metallic echoes of what could possibly be her _limited edition Gatito bell pendant necklace_ clanking down the rough cement walls of a street manhole wasn’t proof enough. Searching hands, too big for that of a child yet too soft for a teenager, fumbled to her breast for the familiar mold of sterling silver and copper alloy kept close to her heart. They balled into empty fists as, yes, it was gone.

Her bell was gone.

Rhyme did what any teenager who had just dropped their most prized material possession down a sewer hole.

She stopped breathing for five seconds.

And then she proceeded to flip the funkers out.

Now Rhyme was no ordinary teenager. Since the bright dawn when she began walking, she possessed the perfect poise of calm, serenity, and control. Anyone who knew her name saw no darkness nor a single malicious thought or lie. To all, she was the image of an a sweet angel, with the song of a bird and a the kindness of a friend. Rhyme was the image of tranquil perfection. That is to say, she was not one who flipped her pancakes very often.

Her breath hitched as both blood and thoughts scattered from her brain and froze in stagnant capillaries. Then came the pounding adrenaline rush in full force, boiling the hormones in her blood with only one thought: RHYME ANGRY. She kicked the daisies by her foot, she yanked delicately at her hair, she snatched off the dirty skull hat that was impeding her ability to properly yank her hair, and she pouted cutely at the hat in her hand!

When her heart settled down, she let her default “O’ Calm & Wise Rhyme” settings sink in, as well as the sudden cheek-flushing embarrassment that somebody could have witnessed that mortifying tantrum. As her breathing returned to normal, in came the Blame Game. Rhyme had told Beat _multiple times_ to fix the clasp on her necklace! Not only did he have the strength of a feral rhino, he had the mass of one too. The frail clasp stood no chance against Beat’s unfortunately placed step; it must have still been loose since a week ago, and her tangled hair only quickened the dismantling. If only she hadn’t been in such a hurry this morning!

 _Haste makes waste_ , her mind sighed before she irritatingly pushed aside the irony that her most treasured item of fifteen years just fell down into a gutter and now her mind was following it.

What happened was stupid, really. Stupid enough to induce what Neku liked to initiate a dramatic palm-meets-face reunion. It was like the manhole had been there just for this to happen. Rather than letting herself sink into a state of perpetually turbulent flashbacks, she stood blankly with a bitter expression too rancid for a 14-year-old to possibly effect.

As the last of the tinkling echoes reverberated into silence, her mind whipped back up from its rotten depths. She needed to breathe, a thought whispered absently from the recesses of her mind. After all, only the most important object of her whole living being just fell down a sewer. Slowly, she inhaled a stream of air that was surely too much for her petite lungs to handle. _1, 2... 3._ She exhaled, her entire frame rattling from containing the bulk of the conniption.

“Everything will be okay in the end, and if it's not okay, it's not the end,” she whispered to herself, shaking off the negative atmosphere. She even managed a small smile for good measure.

_The most important object of her whole living being just fell down a sewer._

Welp. Her smile reflected over an invisible x-axis, forming the perfect Kodak-moment frown. “Oh _blimey,_ ” she said again for good measure. No, Rhyme needed a stronger noun to portray her exasperation.

“Oh bugging flubbernuts with burnt coconut crust!” and she slammed down her hat onto the street tar – far from the offending manhole – in disgust. Ahh, that was better.

With her mind lucid and plan-thinkers in full gear, she weighed her options. Yes, she could tell Beat... but then he would certainly collapse into one of his self-blaming and wall-punching fits, and she would have to rub his shoulder and tell him it’s not his fault. (Even though it was, partially.) No! She needed to get her mind out of the gutter – and get walking access to one if she wanted to rescue her precious jingling wonder.

With the last of her logical thoughts tucked behind her shoulder, Rhyme rushed off to find a way a girl at the ripe age of fifteen could possibly obtain unsupervised access into the city sewer.

* * *

"No means _no_ , sis’."

A dastardly cute moue complexed Rhyme’s facial features.

Unfortunately, her convincing expression could not be transferred over radio wavelengths for Beat to appreciate, and silence hung over the cellphone conversation somberly.

Even through the horrendous cell phone service, Beat sounded worried, no he sounded _terrified_ , to even consider letting Rhyme meander around the underground city garbage traffic. She stared at a wall, not paying attention to his speech, and imagined his ridiculously muscular arms that were probably twice the size of her waist folded reproachfully across his chest. Drat, she knew that Beat wouldn’t approve of this idea. But why? It wasn’t like they _died_ there or anything.

Unless... was there something else she couldn’t remember? Rhyme was pretty sure that there was a lot more she couldn’t remember clearly than that throwaway month from a year ago that _nobody talks about._

What was it? It wasn’t like there had some punch club with repetitive rules, and she had gotten her cerebral cortex brawled into an amnesic knot. Sure she didn’t have her memory complete and immaculate, but at least she had something else far more useful.

Sometimes Rhyme would have this nagging instinct, scratching from the innards of her skull to the twitch of her nose. It was like she had a second half to her thoughts – a sixth sense, warning her of things she otherwise would have had no regard toward. She liked to call it her “squirrel sense” since its insistent heckling reminded her distinctly of the distressed squeaking of some large rodent. With intricate tattooed wings and bright fur. Yeah, she wasn’t sure where that description came from either. She would have guessed from some childhood dream since she hadn’t had one for over a year now - coincidentally around the same time her strange ESP had evinced, but she didn’t put too much thought into that. After all, she didn’t read sci-fi anymore. She didn’t just didn’t read anymore. She stopped putting thoughts to recreational living after realizing there was nothing she really wanted to do anyway. It was like somebody slowly culled out her desires with a dull kitchen knife, let everything bleed and rust at the edges, and then glued the frayed edges together with some flaky Elmer’s Glue they thought they had lost in third grade.

Never once in the past year had she ever distinctly felt the desire to do anything. Except this.

Well, it was close enough to the characteristics of “desire”. It was, she daresay, _curiously exciting_ , like probing the carcass of her desire with a javelin and becoming maniacally giddy when it still bled.

The sound of Beat’s garble escalated from the earpiece and stopped, and Rhyme realized that he had asked a question and she had dozed off again. Oops. That had been happening a lot lately.

“I know, but Beat, this is really important-” she guessed at the unheard question.

“Yo, sis, da Shibuya sewers are bad news. Crazy-ass freaks hang there! Nasty and unscoopulous prisses-”

“Unscrupulous, brother,” Rhyme stated without missing a beat. Heh Beat. Her squirrel sense giggled. She mentally smacked it upside in the dry humor.

“-unscrupulous prissy boys with them _guns_. The whole sewer's his house! So, _no_.”

Rhyme sighed and agreed to... whatever he was talking about. This was hopeless.

“Have fun at school, 'aight, sis? I gotta bounce, but we can catch up at lunch or somethin'.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she wasn’t at school. Rhyme nodded gravely despite knowing that he couldn’t see it, but somehow how he understood and grunted a farewell.

The phone conversation ended with a bundle of static and a click, and she pocketed the device. There went her only chance to getting her bell back! Asking Shiki and Neku was out of the question; her interest in doing something without her brother’s knowledge would automatically pique their interrogation. They were _his_ friends, not her friends, after all. Plus, if the sewers were associated with that-which-never-to-be-spoken-of, they were just as likely to reprimand her for even asking. She knew; her squirrel sense knew.

Speaking of her senses, somewhere a pleasant smell wafted into her nostrils and tickled her thirst. Good thing too because after a morning like that, some freshly-brewed coffee would certainly never be more welcome.

* * *

A pair of clean Wildboar sneakers squeaked against the support beams of a renovated bar counter as Rhyme sat wordlessly on an off-balance stool, swinging from side to side lazily. She raised an eyebrow at the scathing wails from metal-on-metal grinding, the product of poor product construction. The meager corner coffee shop still had some refurbishing to do on the granite counter. It was like some radical lunatic crashed in through a window and tested his extravagant collection of weapons and bad math puns against every object while blindfolded. Oh well. _Welcome to Wildkat, we apologize for any loose glass shards found in your shoes. Please watch your step!_ It had been like this for a year, and the owner never bothered to properly repair its condition, only covering up the disaster with conveniently placed tables and tacky wallpaper.

The stool screeched again, the sound far worse than the time some kid had scrapped a steel ruler against a chalkboard. She winced again at the high pitch – probably only rodent could something hear a frequency like _that_. Which probably explained why the barista still hadn’t returned from the sketchy backroom behind the staff-only door.

What could a simple coffee-maker need to hide from his customers? Well actually, Rhyme, with her unworldly-knowledge, suspected that behind Mr. H’s well-kept appearance and modest coffee shop was none other the clandestine artist CAT. How? Oh please. The smell of unhealthy coffee-bean obsession just _pulsated_ off the fresh walls of the mural at Udagawa Backstreet every Saturday. But Rhyme didn’t need to go spilling any beans since Mr. H had a nice public image to keep up. And so did she.

Mr. H returned from the backroom, seemingly unperturbed by the horrendous metal scrapping, and cheerily poured some steaming coffee that had just finished brewing into a mug. After adding various cream and sugar ingredients to the dark mixture, he placed a mug labeled _My Guardian Angel_ in front of his patient customer.

Rhyme cautiously curled her hand around the cup’s medium and pressed her lips against the edge, forcing the scalding hot liquid that looked and tasted like broiled tar ashened with the essence of decaying skunk down past her abused taste buds into her anguished stomach. Her eyes threatened to weep feverishly, but she blinked furiously, forcing the tears down their tear ducts all the while sniffling her nose as if she were enjoying the scent of freshly brewed death. Then she smiled and said sweetly, “The java chip frappuccino is most savory today, Mr. H.”

The barista pushed up his shades to give the girl a second glance. Well, he thought that perhaps he might have misplaced his chili beans into the drink since his chocolate chips were still undisturbed in the pantry. But after a short look into the girl’s most perfectly kind and sincere grin, he smiled back, shrugging off the possibility. After all, who could question such a true display of happiness like that?

Rhyme’s practiced grin inconspicuously fell into genuine amusement when Mr. H nodded and returned his focus to dish-washing. She was Sanae’s favorite customer for a reason. It was no secret that Wildkat coffee tasted like hairballs dipped in acid. However, there was something magical about the drinks here, as if they massaged her soul and oiled the hinges with lavender essence. It was strong enough to even routinely lull Rhyme-the-tea-drinker into an enemy coffee shop. She suspected something less legal and more narcotic.

"So Rhy, what brought you here this lovely late morning?” Sanae asked, squeaking the clean porcelain mug in his hand with a towel. Nobody ever came to Wildkat for the coffee, and no amount of adorable smiling could ever hide that fact. “In fact, you’re here early from school.”

She brought her cup quietly up to her face, blocking direct eye contact with those of the barista. “…I didn’t go to school today.” _Again_.

The disappointed sigh dropped from the man’s lip’s should have made Rhyme feel more guilty than she really did. She only felt guilty for not feeling so from his disappointment but more so from her indifference to it. School used to be her favorite place; the land where curiosity was planted, questions were answered, and friends were made. She used to be in all of the hard classes and still the best student. Absently she wondered when this changed. She realized how much she cared anyway amounted to the same answer to her math limit homework problem: DNE, Does Not Exist. It was also the only homework she did before she lost interest in even staying awake to finish the rest.

“But,” Rhyme continued, “it’s because I lost something very important to me.”

Sanae frowned. Uh oh, even the shades were coming off. He meant serious business. “Rhyme, I know you are a smart lady, so you probably already have figured all of it out by now.” _That you don’t have your dreams._ He bit his lip, eyes suddenly focused on the mug that he washed and dried four times already.

Rhyme blinked. Of course she did! Rhyme had already planned this out. Get into the sewer beneath the street she was walking on earlier, find her bell, and get out. Simple and clean. The problem was finding a way into the sewer…

A thought hit her harder than baseball bat. How could she forget? Perhaps Mr. H knew something about the sewage system! If he knew all of the dark unmapped alleyways to graffiti in perfect stealth, he probably knew about the less sanitary pathways. After all, she was a determined woman to succeed on her most challenging mission yet! She was resolute to finding her bell, whether this meant life or a month washing off sewage smell from her hair! Wowzers, this coffee was waaaay too strong for her!

"Mr. H, you’re right, and you’re the prefect man to ask! Would you please help me find a way down into the underground Shibuya sewer?”

The disheveled man fumbled and dropped the silverware before scrambling to retrieve it in the most un-angelic display of grace, trying to decipher if she pronounced Underground with capitalization. "Rhyme...” his voice testing foreign waters of worry and suspicion. He needed to know if she only realized her loss of life ambition, or perhaps something more involving the Game, the Composer, and Other Pronouns. “Exactly how much do you remember?"

"Everything." She already knew this morning's dreadful scene for heart. On her walk to school, she almost fell into an uncovered manhole, and her necklace simply dropped off her neck and rolled right into the stupid pit. End of story.

She looked up, expecting to see Sanae jumping at the chance to get out of this musty coffee shop and do something more heroic than 2 AM graffiti on sad walls. Instead, he was nervously scratching his nose, unknowingly dabbing a fluffy trail of soap bubbles across his face. Uh oh. Something went wrong with her plan, but what?

“Something very dear to me has fallen to the dark clutches of a horrible manhole and now resides underground of Shibuya,” she elaborated, “And I want it back."

The barista opened his mouth. Then shut it. His gaze concentrated on Rhyme’s expression, deeply in though. After some silent consideration, the beginning formation of an unwanted grin twitched at the end of his lips, ruining his serious face image. “‘Manhole’?” The grin invaded his entire expression, and whatever solemn atmosphere from before completely dissolved. “Well J isn't the most pleasant of all Composers, but ' _manhole_ '...? Rhyme, I am quite…” A giggle. “...astonished…" His bemused giggling evolved into full-out laughter.

Rhyme's eyebrows furrowed into that of confusion. What was so funny about her losing her necklace? And what did jays and songwriters have to do with anything?

“So, what gave me away, Skulls? Lemme guess, the mug? Ahhh, I knew I should’ve warned the boss about abusing his love for ironic gifts.”

She blinked. _What…?_ “Mr. H-“

“-but he was so persistant like, ‘noooooo, that gold font was too fabulous to pass up’ when he really was probably just dying inside from explosive laughter diarrhea from my recent title change-“

“Ummm Mr. H-”

“-but that time with the Neko Cat suit joke, J was just going too far! So I hid a-”

“MR. H!”

The man stuttered, his facial expression utterly _special_.

“I just need a way into the city sewer. Please?”

They stared at each other, the stare-down to the death beyond the taste of his coffee.

Mr. H finally looked away. Ha, so _he_ was the weaker man this round!

The weaker man cleared his throat. “Rhyme, I know this is not what you want to hear, but stay away from Shibuya River. There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing even He can do.” He paused in the way like he had something else to add, but he didn’t. After a moment, he whispered something and… wait was he _apologizing_? She was pretty sure she heard “I’m sorry” but that couldn’t be right.

First he was happy, then scared, then reproachful, and now sad? Puberty hormones were such a joke. Men were such weird creatures.

She nodded, barely concealing her excitement. There was something _she_ could do. She was going to find this Shibuya River, pay a visit to the sewer, toss out that disgusting coffee, and get her bell back.

* * *

Rhyme raced herself to the Shibuya River, that is, until she realized that she had no idea where it was.

The blond had been traveling at an inconspicuous pace between trudging and west-point strides, and now she was smack in the middle of Scramble Crossing. Her pathetic height made the other older pedestrians tower over her, and she felt like people were walking their dingy shoes all over her. Ewwwwww.

Her squirrel sense suddenly awakened from its silence and pulled her toward away from the grey masses of people and toward the side streets of Hachiko. _Ahhhh Hachiko_. There was something about the statue that brought her peace, in a less questionable way than narcotic-death-coffee. She strode up to the metal dog and rubbed its back – and instantly regretted it as her fingertips burned, _ow ow owwww_. Chemistry lesson: dark metal exposed for hours under the August sun can reach searing temperatures. Maybe she should have paid more attention to the lesson about specific heat in school last week.

Damaged fingers in her mouth, she reconsidered the whole fiasco. How was she going to find a river in a city? Did Shibuya even have a river? How was it connected to the sewer? What was up with Mr. H? It was like he was talking about something totally different. But most importantly, why did she care so much about that old pendant anyway? Would it really be such a big deal to just to buy a replacement off Amazon?

Suddenly, a horrible and revolting image walked into the right side of her peripheral vision. She immediately snapped to her left, but alas it was too late. Said revolting image peered over and gave Rhyme a nauseating, predatory grin. Ugh. He always reminded her of a badger, and her squirrel sense did not like anything with sharp nails and a suffocating grasp and a toothy grin of sharp teeth.

Rhyme glared but kept moving. “ _You_ ,” she almost hissed. “Pleas-”

“U,” Sho swooped in to intercept the blond, “is the magnificent union between two un-interrelated coordinates, unlike its intersection counterpart. Perhaps together we could change that union between U and I, little digit?”

The “little digit” tried her best to keep a calm countenance despite the sudden rising tide of aggravation and disquiet. This guy was so irritating. She was also not impressed how despite her sleazy school attendance, she still knew that intersection was not symbolized by the letter I. What a fraud, this guy, calling himself a math major! And would it _kill_ him to wear a proper shirt for once?

Of course, with her most admirable luck, she managed to walk into this creep. During their last interaction on a quiet study session in Wildkat, her pre-calculus homework coincidentally disappeared - and she definitely didn’t want it back anyway. After all, she didn’t want to think about what hideous things he had done with it. Ughhh, her virgin mind was not built for this level of disturbing thoughts. She turned the mental dial back to its default state of perpetual optimism, flowery aphorisms, and innocent giggles. At the same time Rhyme turned a sharp right angle to her left to keep distance, trying to map the best way to slip past the _removable discontinuity_ in her defined path.

“Awww c’mon Raimu, at least turn that cute lil’ concave-down, 180 degrees around!”

“The r-probability of either is reaching negative critical mass.” She responded on instinct and subdued repulsion. “Please move out of the way, Minamimoto.”

“Aha! An argument error Raimu! Anyone can see that negativity in your domain is imaginary.”

“You’re irrational, you lousy pi. I’d sooner drink anti-freeze than square your even more so imaginary illusions.” Rhymed prayed that would shut him up.

It did. Sho licked his lips and winked.

The temperature in the vicinity suddenly halved.

Shoot, it wasn’t working! She was hoping that if she spoke math-geek, he would get the hint and leave her alone. His feces-devouring grin suggested that Plan A was backfiring. It was time for Plan B! Oh wait, Rhyme didn’t have any math homework to bribe the beast with today because she, of course, skipped school. She was so screwed, with a 20% chance of randomly conceiving a figurative PTSD baby.

“Now Sho,” a new voice cut through. “I strongly advise you to remove your discontinuity from this fine lady’s path before I reduce your unwanted matrix to the _last echelon_.”

A silhouette tailored with expensive clothes sauntered into the scene, voluminous hair the color of warm butter mixed with cinder flowing as dramatically as his? her? entrance. _His_ , her squirrel sense argued with certainty, although from an unknown source of confidence as her mind fell short of any recognition. His eyes - not blue nor green nor brown... but _purple_ \- quickly swept across her face and before he expertly flipped his hair. And then he placed a hand on his hip. _Don’t judge a book by its cover._ She inhaled a breath of confusion and intrigue at the stranger.

Clearly the math creep was Fo Sho displeased with the new development. A man more outrageously ambiguous than him? That or these two men shared deep and personal vendetta, riddled with scars from the dark and painful past... how they tensed in each other’s gaze, their vision heavy with laden mystery and revenge. Rhyme blinked. She needed to stop watching so much bad television.

The math creep snarled in audible disgust. “A zero chance probability, Joshua! For today will be the day I kick your asymptote to infinity and beyond!”

Rhyme backed away, trying to decide whether or not the appearance of another person fluent in math-geek was a positive turn of events. With her astounding luck, they were probably going to challenge each other to an embarrassing X-Y-Z-Oh! children’s card game duel.

Sho reached into his belt and took out a gun.

Whoa whoa, just _what_ she had she roped herself into? A wild street fight was about to break out in the middle of the road and here she was, trapped between the dog statue and two crazy men. Were there no sane guys in Shibuya?

Joshua smirked, hands subtly flashing the handle of .44 caliber hanging from his belt, and casually retrieved… a cellphone.

Okay, Rhyme’s life, regardless of whether or not she got shot, was over. She twiddled her thumbs and wondered if she was going to die from a stray bullet or from mortification first.

Sho pulled the trigger, point blank.

Nothing happened.

The metro guy’s grin grew wider and he tested the smoothness of a bullet in his fingertips. “Looking for this, hmm?~” He pocketed the pieces of metal and started fiddling with his phone. “What is the updated probability now?”

The male with unimpressive shirt selection blanched and absconded toward the quickest direction that was conveniently not-here, cursing some unknown and probably incorrect mathematical jargon. Believe it or not, hectopascals cannot be factored as a hectopascal is a hundredth of a single unit of Pascal, the measurement for pressure. It was the same thing as trying to factor a calorie or 23 degrees northwest. Complete and total fraud, that guy.

Something flared in the man’s strange eyes. “And Sho? I implore you to never recycle a Disney phrase ever again. It is most unbecoming of you and not to mention, highly disturbing. I actually am quite fond of Toy Story and I don’t want any grimy furries defiling it.”

With the disturbance gone, Rhyme turned to face the guy. His name was Joshua? That was what Sho called him. What an unusual name, a Caucasian name and a matching face in the middle of Japan. _Like her._

Rhyme blinked. The guy blinked. She did know this guy? Did he know her? Something about him felt _familiar_. But how? Her squirrel sense leaned in and tried to get a closer scent…

The guy suddenly bumped into her nose with his unusually orange-colored cellphone. Her focus was ruined. Drat, what was that for? She had felt something coming on and he ruined it! Oh well, he did kind of save her from Sho-creeper.

“ _Oh~ thank you for saving me, kind man!~ Shall I take you out for lunch?_ ” the guy mocked in falsetto.

Rhyme resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Typical. “Umm, I am very grateful for what you did, but perhaps another time? I truly am thankful for your impeccable timing, but I am in a hurry.”

“ _Haste makes waste,_ Raimu.” Joshua tsked. “You should slow down and admire the scenery. Smell the flowers instead of blundering them blindly. That way you don’t cluelessly run into surprise encounters with beastman again.”

Rhyme felt her face flush in embarrassment. She was by no means used to strangers addressing her by _that name_ and then using _her_ adages. “Perhaps I could take you Wildkat then? It’s only about ten minutes away.”

“I save your life, and all you offer me is a shame to coffee flavored with sewer gator regurgitation? Oh I am wounded!” His amused expression said otherwise. “Of course Sanae is a good ol’ man, but his taste buds need some rehabilitation.”

Rhyme sparked into surprise – this guy knew Mr. H! And well enough to know that his coffee was horrible! Perhaps he knew of this elusive Shibuya River? He seemed intelligent or pretentious enough to be of help. But first she needed to assess his trustworthy levels before making any executive decisions.

This guy’s hair. She liked his hair. It was long and shiny, the combed and healthy hair of someone classy with good appearances and taste. Obviously he was no math-creeper hobo wandering the streets with a ripped shirt exposing some not-so-ripped abs. She tried not giggle at how a guy had hair longer than her own. His eyes were another story, a hushed fable of orchid fields and distrusting secrets. Hmmmmm… But! She really liked his shoes. They were the shoes of a stranger she could trust for her mission. Their worn-out state looked like they had been a life-long journey, trudging over river sewage and angry fish since its creation. Not only that, they were Sheep Heavenly and bore a comfy inch and a half of padding on the heel. Her squirrel sense gave an odd biting warning for some reason, but nodded in reluctant approval anyway.

What luck! They were probably going to get along swimmingly.

“But before we go, please do me a favor and drop the innocent act, Raimu. It is so last year, and I nor you are ones for unfitting masks.”

The only thing that threatened to drop was Rhyme’s smile. A spot-on accusation and _that name_. A double-whammy, but it didn’t cut it. “Please don’t call me Raimu, sir.” She said politely, voice soft and high.

“A name complex? I know someone else with remarkably the same peeve." He leaned in closer, sneering ever so slightly. "Despite his, ah, different language style, you two really are siblings.”

The blonder of the two felt her blood run cold. This guy knew her brother – but Beat had never mentioned anyone who fit his description. And if he did, she would certainly remember. How could anyone ever forget? Rhyme frowned. Could she really trust this guy? B-but the shoes! They never lied!

“Who exactly _are_ you again, Joshua?” her head tilting innocently to the side, but the act was overshadowed by her eyes searching in distrust.

“Aww, where did all of that diabetic charm of yours run away to, Raimu? Down that hole you almost fell down?”

Wait… had this guy been spying on her this morning? Because there was no way that he referring to…

“Or was that sweet charm that everyone blindly envisions you as is simply a lie, fabricated to protect yourself from the unsuspecting world.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. There was no questioning escalation at the end and Rhyme felt her hair follicles bristle. Her expression remained steady though.

“Behind that cherubic face of yours is just a little girl with even littler ambition in the world, and so she hides her shame. Too low to find a purpose to life but too high to surrender to death.”

Ugh, this guy! He was so… _frustrating_! She just wanted to-

“Be my guest and throw your hat again, Raimu. But doing so won’t make my words any less true.”

The careful smile almost twitched as Rhyme fought the urge to just punch the guy in the jaw. How dare he so easily and nonchalantly read her like she was some online blog? She did find purpose to life! It was…! It was… Rhyme blinked and trembled suddenly. How could he, with only a look and smile, read her for exactly her? Oh nevermind. This guy was playing her. Well two could play that game.

Joshua suddenly smirked as a strange probing feeling in her cerebrum intensified. It was almost like he was reading her mi-

She cut off that thought quickly and she smiled softly. After all, she was really curious to just how long it would take before he noticed the bee that had embedded itself into his hair just a few seconds ago.

“Guh- _beeee_??!” The guy instantly thrashed a panicked hand to his head, not even attempting to conceal his girly shriek as he whipped his hair back and forth in a raging hair rodeo that would make Willow Smith proud.

Rhyme almost smirked in victory. There was no bee.

“Is something wrong? Or is your lack of tact while speaking to a _lady_ chased off by a swarm of illusionary insects?” she countered teasingly. The foreign presence tickling the exterior of her mind released its hold.

“Call it even, shall we?” She offered a hand. “I preferred to be addressed as _Rhyme_ ,” she emphasized, “and it is a pleasure to meet you sir.”

Joshua glared at the hand and instead used his own to matte down his now battered hair. He was clearly not the type to be so easily one-upped like that.

“Very well, _Rhyme_ , but I believe ‘calling it even’ implies there was an uneven score on my part in the first place. And you are the one who owes your local hero here something more delectable than inedible coffee bean regurgitation.” The mental probing feeling hit strongly this time, and Rhyme reciprocated with the lovely snapshot of Joshua flipping his lid over an imaginary bee. The probing feeling left her, and Joshua’s confidence took a strong fist to the face by humiliation. She repressed a vicious grin.

This guy was a good liar. But not good enough. The slightest twitch of his hand, the fumble of his lower lip, the unseeing vision in his eye… Rhyme saw right through him.

But he saw right through her too.

He looked at her, eyes filled with snark and irritation… but no, there was something else. He too had a mask, the harsh but perfectly fitting complement to hers; the burn to her balm, the whip to her cream. Behind the sham confetti was a fresh emotion, but she couldn’t name it until she noticed that her eyes reverberated with the same thought: respect.

They were equals.

This was... _exciting_. Oh how she missed this feeling! She almost giggled.

“Alright Joshua.” Rhyme leaned back and smiled, her eyes forming cutesy crescent moons. “You win. The ramen shop it is. But first, I must ask you for a favor.” A stab in the dark again, but if her aching squirrel sense was right, then- “Can you take me to Shibuya River?”

Joshua's slightest flinch rippling his practiced composure almost went unnoticed. “I have no authority to do so and nor does a young lady like you have any business in the underground water sanitation system.” he recited dully, examining an unevenly ripped hangnail. “I suggest you take a hike and engage in some philanthropic activities.”

The guy probably had never met anyone who could read right past his rude defense mechanism. But then again, she never had met anyone who saw her as more than the sweet innocent girl that she once was. It was oddly refreshing for someone to see her exactly as who she was.

But, he was so… _prissy_. And how did he possibly know Beat? Wait! Didn’t Beat mention something about _prissies_ and _sewers_ and _guns_? Hints and puzzles clicked into place. It was like solving the horrible water temples in those green-skirted elf video games all over again.

“Well actually,” Rhyme sang sweetly, “I do have business in the sewer. And I think my brother has mentioned you before! I remember _everything_.” She giggled before the words could settle. “I believe you have something of mine, Joshua.”

It was Joshua’s turn to freeze. “I have nothing of yours in my possession, Rhyme.”

“Nonsense, you clearly made a point about watching me lose it, and I’m certain you can lead me back straight to my most prized possession.”

The guy’s carefully blank expression faltered. Did this guy actually look _guilty_?

“Rhyme, entry fees are non-refundable.” He said cautiously.

She stared. This guy was the most deceitful con man if she ever saw one, so there was no chance that she bought anything from him.

“I’m sorry but when you lost the Game, you lost your dreams permanently. There is nothing I can do.”

Dreams games losing wait _what?_ What, what, what was he talking about? First Sanae and now Joshua! (Sho was always talking crazy.) Goodness, males were a cray-cray species.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about sir, but I dropped my bell pendant down the sewer and I would like to find it!”

“…”

Joshua blinked. Rhyme blinked.

“ _Oh_.”

Well, talk about awk.

“So _now_ would you be so kind as to show me where Shibuya River is?” Sweet Charm Rhyme was back, voice raised to prepubescent levels.

“I cannot escort you down into the sewers.” He turned his back toward her, palms up in retreat. “Entering the Underground is a decision you must make yourself.”

“But,” he continued, “I can get your pendant back. Find the vertical passage where you dropped it from the surface and I’ll send it back up to you, okay?”

Too ecstatic to trust herself with words, Rhyme nodded silently. Turning away quickly, she hustled back toward the street with the manhole, the strangest catalyst of all events.

“And also Rhyme, since we are parting ways, if you wish to thank me, bring me some real food. I’m talking about Shio Ramen. You’ll know where to find me.” As they walked their separate directions, the last thing Rhyme heard was the dying squeak of fashionable shoes with a questionable amount of heel.

Rhyme grinned. She could _always_ count on the shoes.

* * *

Out of breath, Rhyme scurried past two blocks and hurried back to the street with the manhole to find…

There was no manhole.

The street center was smooth without a single sewer passage in sight.

No way. Rhyme was certain this was the street where there most definitely used to be a _gaping_ _hole_ into the core of the underground city. Even her squirrel sense concurred.

She gave a small hop listened for any hollow echoes beneath her feet.

But instead she heard a familiar tink below her head.

No, _her bell_.

She felt around her chest and yep, it was definitely her pendant. But how? Hands reaching behind her neck, she unfastened the necklace – promptly noting that the metal clasp was completely fixed – to examine it for further detail.

When she scrutinized her bell later that day, she had found a small paper attached to the ringer of her bell.

The only indicator that it had ever fallen down a curious manhole in the city, the only thing that proved to her that .

_Don’t forget what I said. Shio Ramen._

She smiled.

* * *

Two bowls of sealed ramen slung in a take-out box accompanied a petite blond girl as she meandered down an empty street. A week had passed and Rhyme finally returned to the street with the first encounter.

She hadn’t mentioned anything to Beat, and she passed off her phone call as her wanting to do a non-existent school project in the sewers to which she later changed her mind. Yesterday she had went to school for the first time in a week. If not for her, then for her brother she supposed. Things had changed for Rhyme.

And same for the manhole.

Extending from the depths of the suddenly re-existing hole was a ladder.

She could just smell the excitement. It was distinctly putrid like rotten sewage.

_If I want to ‘thank’ him, only I can let myself in._

She looked at the ladder again, both her and her squirrel sense smiling.

Step by step, the soft echoes of a bell and squeaky shoes could be heard.


End file.
